An Imperial Affliction
by Hime-koi
Summary: It's unappreciative and 'oh-so very ignorant,' but as the Dutchman hands me the yellow buds, I cannot help but reach for the purple ones in protest. "They're imperial in the language of flowers," I say. "And afflicted in the eyes of the other tulips." He nods. "Just like you." I smile tightly. "Yes, just like me."


**An Imperial Affliction**

**by Peter Van Houten**

* * *

To Lillianna

* * *

Author's Note

Before you immerse yourself in this work of fiction, I advise you to take a deep breath and embark on a journey through reality. As humans, we sometimes must choose the lesser of two evils which can both be plainly represented as a series of tracks and trolleys. In the end, whichever path of wickedness we must take, we all succumb to humanity. This work of literature is the embodiment of that struggle.

* * *

_There's a certain slant of light,_

_On winter afternoons_

_That oppresses, like the weight_

_Of cathedral tunes._

_Heavenly hurt it gives us;_

_We can find no scar,_

_But internal difference_

_Where the meanings are._

_None may teach it anything,_

'_Tis the seal, despair,-_

_An imperial affliction_

_Sent us of the air._

_When it comes, the landscape_

_listens,_

_Shadows hold their breath;_

_When it goes, 't is like the distance_

_On the look of death. _

**- Emily Dickinson**, _A Certain Slant of Light_

* * *

_Chapter ONE_

Mother's glass eye turned inward.

It's probably about the seventh time today, and the sight of it is almost comical with her right eye focused on the tulips and her left seemingly lost in the communication. When it happened for the first time months ago, Dr. Irving had pulled me to the side as if he were going to let me in on a secret, and mentioned the importance of presentation and informing my mother of her eye's mishaps.

However, instead of doing so, I turn my head and pretend to be interested in my bowl of oatmeal. After all, it's the first time I've seen Mother smile in a genuine manner in months since she started gardening again. Her tulips were finally becoming what they used to be before The Accident.

Shaking my head, I stood up from the kitchen table and circled the room to put on my backpack and slip on my faded Chuck Taylors. Mother sidled over to me as I approached the front door, kissing my forehead and brushing my short, brown hair down.

"Have a wonderful day, sweetie!"

I nod and plaster on a small smile. The only one I could manage when my mind is muddled with thoughts of The Accident and the cause of it, The Affliction. Even in the days after them, it's as if I still cannot move on.

"Oh, and Anna?" Mother says, causing me to turn back to her. "Please try to eat the lunch I packed for you today."

"Will do." I reply before stepping outside.

I hear a sigh as soon as I close the door behind me. I pivot on my heels and gasp dramatically as I look into the glasses-protected eyes of Jake Sheer. His black hair was slicked back from his face with an unbelievable amount of hair gel. For a guy that prided himself on appearance, he tried his absolute best to look unappealing.

For the past week, Jake had been confined to the prison that is his home charged with the offense of contracting the flu. For a full week, he hadn't caked his hair with gel or wore his glasses except for frequent trips to the bathroom to empty his stomach (quite violently, I must add). Claire and I visited several times, frequently commenting on how his hair gel held him back from his true potential as the most attractive male in our year. We said this jokingly, but I'll admit (only to myself) that my comments weren't fully in a joking manner.

"Jake! You're alive!" I said in mock disbelief. "And I see you've learned how to use hair gel once again. I applaud you, my friend."

"Very funny, Anna," he replies. "One week of bedridden flu and suddenly everyone's killing me off."

He offers me his arm and the two of us walk in the direction of the school, linked.

"Well, that's a side effect of dying, Mr. Sheer. Everyone actually believes you're dying. Cause you kinda are."

"I wasn't _dying_, Anna. I think I would know if I was dying."

He rolls his eyes, and I'm tempted to tell him about what it's really like to be aware that you're going to die. The fear you feel waking up every day, wondering if that day is The Day, the one that brings all the other days to an end and then eventually you don't have anymore days left at all.

But, I convince myself not to. Because he doesn't know. He doesn't know that I'm greatly acquainted with that particular fear. The Affliction is my secret. I don't need or want anyone's pity. Especially since it's all over.

So instead of replying, I change the subject. "Let's play a game. I'll start. Once upon a time…"

He smiled and continued. "There was a girl…"

* * *

The bus picks us up at 7:02 AM and we arrive with six minutes to spare. It takes exactly twenty-two minutes and thirty-one seconds to reach Bullard High from Biola. Before The Accident (and even before The Affliction), my mother established a sort of continuity in my life that allowed both of us to remain sane during difficult times. The memory of that is partly the reason why even though Jake is looking at me like three feet magically sprouted from my head, I have a weird (possibly creepy) grin on my face. The other part is the fact that Artemus Tex just faceplanted into the freshly cut grass. But that's not important right now.

I turn to Jake who points out Claire in the crowd of moving kids as if asking my permission. I nod once and watch as he and Claire meet up and proceed to walk to their homeroom together. I walk in the opposite direction against the crowd, silently thanking God that I'm alone with my thoughts for a little while.

It's a little disheartening, but this is how it goes every day. I live in a twilight that exists separate from the world everyone else is in. It's as if time stopped for me years ago and no one really notices. Although my sixteenth birthday is in less than a month, I still feel like I'm that eight-year old little girl who refused to play with anyone in the hospital besides the tiny girl in 245 who had one too many Transformers.

However, in the end, I'm kind of satisfied with my own world. In my own world, no one gets hurt except for me because everyone is moving past me. It's the same with Claire, Jake, everyone in my year, and even my own mother. It's as if I'm at the starting line, my mother is fifty meters ahead of me and Claire and Jake are even further, ahead at one hundred. They move, but I'm stuck. And somehow, I'm okay with it.

When I make it to my homeroom, a majority of the class is already there. I take a seat behind a kid who's basically the class stoner and take out my sketchbook. It's akin to a diary, but much safer. I doubt if anyone took a peek at my lurid Treachery of Images references, they would understand what I was trying to convey. As I waited for the teacher to arrive, I flipped past my "Ceci n'est une pomme!" drawing and started sketching.

I was halfway done sketching twilight when class started.

* * *

My least favorite class of the day was P.E.

On average, kids at Bullard enjoyed P.E. with the same vigor they did a summer day at the amusement park. In contrast, I enjoyed it with the same vigor I would spending summer day picking up individual ants and allowing them to feast on the candy I'd saved up for. Therefore, when I crossed the football field and seen the less athletically challenged kids (that I have the pleasure of sharing the same species with) gearing up for a run around the track field, I sighed in exasperation.

Coach Summers, who happened to be the only one willing to teach sophomores, lined us up after we had all changed into our uniforms and ordered us to run three laps around the track. We all took off we different speeds, with kids like Terra Franks, Artemus Tex, and Wilson Hanks leading and running circles around the slower people. I kept up a comfortable speed and finished before a couple of girls who were trying to talk while running.

Coach Summers congratulated everyone who beat their last time, and scolded the ones who didn't. Afterwards, he spoke of the many opportunities we had as sophomores to join a sport which I brushed off. Everyone dispersed for lunch after he finished his speech on sports, and split in different directions. I changed back into my plain dark jeans and t-shirt and wandered off to find my friends.

When I reached the lunchroom, Jake and Claire were already seated next to each other, trays in front of them. I immediately headed over to their table and sat across from them. Both of them turned to me, took notice of the grim expression on my face, and nodded. "That bad, huh?" Claire started.

I nodded a little. "Running and such. The athletes dominated as always, of course."

Claire twirled spaghetti around her fork. "Sounds about right. If it makes you feel any better, I hear Coach Summers is going to cancel class for the next week because the field is going to be used for football tryouts."

"Not long enough." I replied as I took out the lunch my mother packed for me. Inside, there was a single yellow tulip on top of a sandwich and chips. I took the delicate flower out and admired it. This was the first time in a while that my mother had given me one of her tulips. In the language of flowers, yellow tulips signified brightness and sunshine, but for me, I knew it meant so much more.

Jake and Claire had started their own conversation about their shared English class while I placed the tulip gently next to my lunch bag, smiling. It was funny how my mother always found ways to cheer me up even when she wasn't around me.

* * *

I don't believe I've ever told my mother how dreadful school is for me simply because I don't want her to worry. The tulip in my lunch bag today was a clear sign that she was worrying about my wellbeing. But she had a reason to be. During The Affliction, I ceased showing side effects of dying and instead began to be _the side effect_ myself.

Every action has a reaction and the action of the earth's relentless mutation in the quest for diversity causes side effects. I am that side effect.

When the bus stops on the outskirts of Biola, I make up an excuse so that I won't have to deal with Jake's insistent questions about why I'm so moody today. Even though he and Claire were engulfed in conversations of their own during lunch, I could tell he was struggling to find ways to break the silence we both suffered through on the bus.

"I'm going to go buy some seeds for my mother so she can have more than just tulips growing around," I say, waving Jake off. "See you later."

He looks unconvinced but nods and sets off in the direction of his house. I watch him until I no longer can see him.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and go in the opposite direction, towards a general store near the bus stop. I buy some sunflower seeds on a whim and take the long route back to my house.

I pass by the market on the way. There are only a select few people roaming about as it's almost closing time, but it's really lively around opening hours. When I was younger, my mother used to allow me to pick out which tulips I believed she should plant. I remember always picking out the same ones with her chuckling, but still buying the ones I selected.

"Purple again, Anna?" she'd ask and I'd nod enthusiastically, mesmerized by the rich texture of the flowers my mother was so in love with.

My feet automatically take me in the direction of the stand we used to frequent for tulips. It's in the middle of the market, small, and not necessarily popular. The elderly couple who owns said stand once offered my mother the position of taking over the stand, but she prefers to grow her flowers at her own leisure. There's a popular Swedish proverb that states "The best place to find a helping hand is at the end of your own arm" which my mother takes as before she uses said helping hand to help others, she must first better herself.

It's a little surreal to apply a famous saying to something as simple as growing tulips, but that's how life is for my mother and I.

My feet stop when I reach the beautiful array of roses that surround the stand. The air smells enticing and sweet, causing me to move closer to the stand. The older couple I'm so familiar with is nowhere to be found, but there's a man sitting behind the stand, a tattered book in his hands, and various flower bulbs scattered in front of him.

As soon as I see him, I take a step back, partly because I don't know him (for all I know he could either be the Prince of England or a homeless guy) and partly because the assaulting smell of the flowers becomes more and more overwhelming the closer I walk towards the stand.

I'm turning on my heel and getting ready to walk off briskly when he looks up from his book and calls out to me.

"What can I do for you, young lady?"

Startled, I look back in his direction. His eyes hold curiosity in them and he asks this question in wonder with an accent that is so rich I cannot pinpoint its origin. I stare in shock at him until he raises an eyebrow which snaps me out of my stupor.

"Um…yeah, I was just looking!" I manage to stammer out. "I'll be on my way now!"

He looks at me in amusement as I wave and turn back to walk away. However, I'm stopped again by him before I can rush off.

"_Heel mooi_," he says. "That's 'very beautiful' in Dutch."

"What?" I ask without turning around.

"Your tulip. It's beautiful. Very well grown."

I had forgotten that instead of allowing the tulip to get crushed in my backpack, I'd used a piece of string to carefully tie the stem to the outside. I'd had it there since lunch. Flustered, I stutter out a 'thanks' and run off.

When I'm a far away off, I turn back and see that the man has settled back into reading his book. It's strange to see someone else at the stand rather than the elderly couple, but at least it's not a weird homeless guy. Rather, it's a weird guy who speaks Dutch, has a good eye for flower growth and probably shares my mother's tulip obsession. I sigh because out of all things, I had to take the most embarrassing route and run away. Nevertheless, I can't stop the smile from spreading across my face in amusement at the entire situation.

Wondering if my mother has met the Dutch Tulip Man, I clutch my backpack's straps and continue on my way.

* * *

_Author's Note: First of all, this will be my ONE AND ONLY note! The note at the beginning of the chapter is **the 'Author's Note'** as in I meant it to be from Van Houten's point of view. If there's anything I need to tell you guys, it'll be on my profile or I'll add it to this author's note so please check the first chapter every time a new chapter is posted just in case. Also, I usually reply to reviews but not in this one! If you have questions, please PM me or send me an ask on Tumblr (I'm pasturedlove there). I've also posted the first chapter of AIA on my Tumblr complete with the drawings Anna mentions in this chapter. So, if you'd like to see Anna's drawings, check out the Tumblr post of the chapter! _

_Moreover, we're all aware that AIA is not a 'cancer book.' Anna will not learn to live happily with cancer or start a cancer charity or anything. She will struggle with cancer and AIA will NOT have a happy ending. (In fact, if you're familiar with AIA from TFIOS, you'll know that it doesn't really have an ending at all.) However, that does not mean there won't be happy moments. _

_In TFIOS, there are seven characters named from AIA: Anna, her mother, the Dutch Tulip Man, Claire, Jake, Sisyphus, and Christine. However, this doesn't mean that they'll be the only characters mentioned frequently. Every character I name will most likely appear again. _

_Lastly, this AIA will be exactly 651 pages just like the one in TFIOS. Therefore, it may end in a happy moment or in a sad one depending on what's going on when I arrive at 651 pages. Nevertheless, I hope you stay around for the journey!_

_Thanks for reading! :)_

_(100 points to anyone who guesses who Lililanna is.)_


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